


Wardrobe Makeover

by midnightecho



Series: Castiel's Rites of Passage [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:04:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightecho/pseuds/midnightecho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters help Castiel to compile a 'good' selection of clothes now that he will need more than one outfit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wardrobe Makeover

“Do I really need a whole new wardrobe, Dean?”

“To need a new wardrobe, you’d have to have a wardrobe in the first place,” the hunter pointed out. “One outfit does not count as a wardrobe.”

Cas looked down sadly at the all-too-familiar suit and trenchcoat. It would be nice to have a change of look, he supposed. The ex-angel had never really considered it before, mostly because he had been a little preoccupied with a holy civil war and the apocalypse. Besides, there hadn’t been much point in changing his clothing when he restores what he was wearing to pristine condition with a simple thought.

Dean pulled a suit from the rack and held it against Cas’ body, accidentally knocking his chin with the hook of the hanger. Cas gave a small huff of frustration at his friend’s unnecessary vigour, but Dean was too deep in his own over-analytical world to notice. After a moment, he threw the suit over his arm on top of the other three he had so far deemed suitable for trials and marched to the next rack to inspect another set of contenders.

“Dean,” Cas said, a slight whine to his tone. And then, when he got no response whatsoever, _“Dean.”_

The older Winchester looked up.

“If I am going to get a whole wardrobe, can I at least choose some of the clothes myself?”

Dean sighed, perhaps a little overdramatically. “When we get to the regular clothes, you can have an input. But these,” – he gestured to the armful of tailored finery he held – “are for work. Hunting requires multiple aliases and you gotta look the part.”

Cas thought that Dean was taking the whole process a bit too seriously, but followed nonetheless as he strode purposefully in the direction of the dressing rooms.

 

When they found a free changing cubicle, Dean handed the pile of nominated clothes to Cas and took a seat on the floor by the curtain. Cas would have asked him to come into the cubicle with him to assist, seeing as Cas had not had much practice in the art of dressing oneself, but Dean looked uncomfortable enough when Cas took off his coat and gave it to him to look after, so he decided to spare his friend the experience. Besides, he would have to learn for himself somehow.

As Cas changed, he reflected on how much simpler angel life had been in terms of menial tasks such as changing clothes. With his grace, he barely thought about all the things everyone else had to worry about, but now he had to take much more care and effort in everything he did. This brought with it a sense of liberation and new life, and Castiel took joy in removing and applying every item manually not only because he had to get to grips with the human way of life, but because he wanted to. Taking the time to slide into a crisp new shirt and trousers was somewhat satisfying, and the material felt different against his skin. It was new. And that was good. The pads in the jacket’s shoulders gave a bounce when he put it on, the shirt’s collar felt stiff and smart as he tied a tie in the way that his old one had been tied. Cas glanced in the mirror and smiled at his new look before pulling back the curtain.

Cas strode out in his socks to stand in front of Dean, who had looked up when the curtain rings scraped against the pole. His expression seemed to freeze, apart from his eyes which swept up and down the length of Cas’ body drinking in every detail. Cas waited for a verdict, but Dean seemed (for once) to be lost for words. Cas opened his arms as if to say ‘ta-da!’, but still nothing. He almost resorted to a twirl, but a smile of awe formed on Dean’s lips and he tactfully held the trenchcoat so that it covered his crotch as he stood. “You look awesome,” he managed to say, barely suppressing his welling pride. Cas looked down at himself once more then met Dean’s eyes and felt himself smile back.

“Although,” Dean continued, looking pointedly at Cas’ tie. “One thing you will need to know out there in the big bad world is how to tie a tie. _This,”_ – He picked up the tail of the tie and used it to point at Cas – “is not how you tie a tie. These little labels? Not for decoration. Okay?”

Cas nodded reluctantly, having had no formal criticism of his tie-tying skills before now (although some of the strange looks he received could probably now be accounted for). He’d quite liked his tie the other way around to be honest, and resolved to flip it over once in a while for old times’ sake.

Dean finished adjusting the tie and buttoned up the front of the tailored suit jacket. The material was snug but comfy around Cas’ middle, a perfect fit, and he felt more dignified than he had done in a long time now that he took a moment to think about it. The thought made him smile as he looked to Dean for his final approval. Dean took a good moment to look Cas up and down with a curious intensity, taking in the details of his newly revealed figure, where the material hugged his waist and structured his shoulders, where it was tailored and buttoned to a perfect fit. When he finally met Cas’ eyes, they were more alive than Cas had even seen them. Finally, he confirmed his judgment with another “Awesome.”

Dean’s praise had restored Cas’ faith in the shopping trip. The rest of the time spent in that store passed easily, with the other pieces gaining professional nods of approval or shakes of the head. Once through the checkout, Dean headed for the shop doors, talking away. After a moment, Cas decided he should listen.

“…Sammy texted me while you were trying stuff on saying he’s waiting in Biggerson’s so we’ll grab a coffee and then head to WalMart for the cheap stuff. Sound good?”

Cas nodded hastily as though he’d heard all of it, hoping he hadn’t missed anything of import.

 

Sam was finishing off a salad when they found him and lit up when he spotted Cas in his new outfit (which Dean had made him change into before they met Sam). As Dean went to fetch drinks, the younger brother took great pleasure from inspecting their other purchases and making remarks about how typical it was of Dean to choose certain items, mentioning something about how he bet Cas would need a good strong tie as pulled one out of the bag. Cas didn’t fully understand what he was getting at, but decided not to push the point.

Two steaming coffees sat on the table five minutes later and the smell gave Cas fond memories of the days he spent simply sat observing the people in these chain stores. He remembered the lovely waitress who he told about coffee’s history – and ignored the memories of Naomi’s intervention that threatened to ruin this day. Instead he picked up the mug – then put it down again because the surface was extremely hot. His palms burnt red from the contact, and Cas winced as he flexed his fingers then frowned at the porcelain.

“You might have more luck if you use the handle,” Sam said helpfully, trying to hide a smirk, turning the mug so the finger-ready loop pointed towards Cas. The ex-angel thanked him and picked the mug up safely this time, slowly as it was heavier than he expected and a little too full for his clearly lacking skills. “Oh – and be careful drinking it, it’ll be hot,” Sam added as the mug reached Cas’ lips. Cas looked at him over the rim as if to say that such a thing was obvious, but yet again the experienced human was right and the liquid scalded Cas’ tongue, almost making him drop the mug – luckily Dean had foreseen this and caught the mug around the rim before Cas had even let go and lowered it safely to the table.

Cas sucked at his fingers where some of the coffee had splashed, looking meekly to Sam, who was busy sniggering to himself. Dean was smiling too. “Maybe give it a minute to cool,” he advised before slurping deeply on his own mugful. Cas pointed at him and was about to comment on the unfairness of the situation, but Dean cut him off before he could start and stated, “Practice,” and that was that.

After a good ten minutes, a spoonful of pie and much tediously observed evaporation, Cas decided to brave the coffee again. The liquid that had spilled made for suction when he picked up the mug, causing more to spill, but he bore the pain and took a timid sip of his drink, and by God the pain was worth it. The taste was like an explosion of energy in his mouth, warming him through and making him feel rejuvenated after the long morning. The experience was so different to the memory – now he felt the effects of the caffeine coursing through him, and he gulped down mouthful after mouthful of the wondrous drink until it was all gone.

When he placed the mug back on the table with a _clunk,_ Cas saw that Sam and Dean were staring at him oddly. After a moment, Dean smiled and shook his head, turning back to his food, and Sam raised his eyebrows and turned down his mouth as though he were more impressed than surprised.

Two more coffees and a short walk later, the trio were finally at WalMart. Sam’s face lit up when they reached the clothing section and he put an arm around Cas’ shoulders before he could go off exploring himself and steered him eagerly towards his favourite section.

_“Plaid!”_ Sam announced happily, standing before the rows of checked shirts and throwing his arms out to indicate them. The excitement on his face was more than Cas had witnessed on a Winchester in years.

Cas could see why Sam felt at home here. Plaid shirts of every colour you could want, plus long sizes (of which there was more of a selection thanks to his unnatural dimensions), plenty of jacket and layers in medium colours on either side – it was his perfect heaven. Unfortunately, it was not Cas’.

Sam’s face drooped when he saw that Castiel wasn’t as excited as him. “What?” he asked, puppy eyes troubled.

“It’s just… I don’t think plaid is really… me.”

Sam’s expression was interesting to watch as it flitted through multiple reactions to this: shock, disbelief, confusion, processing, amusement, mounting amusement and hilarity. “What – what do you mean it’s not for you? Plaid is for everyone.”

It sounded like he was talking about the greatest gift in life, and Cas could hardly bear to see that happiness bubble pop, so he submitted and joined Sam by his favourite shirts so he could dress him up.

Dean found them moments later, and Cas could only just see him above the mound of layers in his arms. The older Winchester only rolled his eyes and moved on elsewhere.

It took them what felt like was years but was realistically only an hour traipsing through the supermarket, picking up two trollies-worth of goods; one held all of Cas’ t-shirts, shirts, overshirts, jackets, coats, trousers, underwear, socks, shoes, ties and belts – which Cas thought was far too much; he wondered how they would fit it all in the bunker, let alone the Impala. The other held all manner of foodstuffs, including generous supplies of pie, coffee, minced meat, fruit and vegetables, enough to cater for all their needs. Amongst the food Cas also noticed a copy of Dean’s favourite magazine, but decided not to mention it as Dean had tried to be subtle when he put it in the trolley.

If there was one human experience Cas disliked out of everything he had tried today, it had to be the checkout queue. The wait was tedious, long and somehow exhausting, and the buzz from all that coffee was wearing off by the time they got there.

“Why don’t you go sit down for a minute, Sam and I have got this,” Dean said to Cas when he saw how tired he was looking. Cas smiled gratefully and took a seat on the floor against the wall opposite the end of the checkout, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping himself in his trenchcoat like a child who sits in a parent’s jumper. He watched the brothers pack up the shopping bag by bag (although they had to use plastic bags from behind the counter, which Cas inferred as being bad because Dean cursed when he realised they had left their own ‘bags for life’ in the trunk) and pile them into the trolley. When they were done, Dean helped him up from the floor and said, “Come on, time to go home.”

They headed for the automatic doors together, a brother on either side of Cas pushing a trolley each. And for the first time in a long time, despite angels hunting him down even at that moment, Castiel felt safe. He had his family. This was where he belonged – with the humans who had accepted him and forgiven him when nobody else would. He placed a hand on the inside of Sam and Dean’s arms to indicate his appreciation of this togetherness, and they walked like that all the way back to the car.


End file.
